Tanning Enduced
by Meep meep
Summary: Due to the frightened villagers storming Malfoy Manor, someone has to start working on his tan. A series of short stories
1. plotting

__

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Except the frightened villagers. I own them.

A.N.: I wrote this when my sister dragged me out of the house so I could "get a tan." So it's kinda random and completely irrelevant to the stories.

Dedication: I dedicate this to whomever reviews that they liked it (muahahaha).

Let the story commence!

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and Draco Malfoy really didn't appreciate being dragged out the house. Besides, 'Teddy Bear's Picnic' was getting so annoying that Draco was seriously entertaining the notion to shoot the ice cream man, and attacking his truck so violently that it would never be able to enforce that stupid song on his ears again.

So here he was, sat outside, keenly aware that his hair was getting lighter, his skin was getting darker and his toenails were growing. As you can probably tell by now, Draco _really_ didn't like sitting outside. But his mother was scared about the rumors going round town that 'Master Malfoy, you know, that freaky kid who's only ever home at Christmas and the summer holidays' was really a vampire not a child.

Wearing nothing but his baggy swim shorts Draco was sure that, should a classmate see him, this had the potential to be fatally embarrassing. Due to the recent heat waves, his mother had decided now was the best time for him to "get a tan" so for the fifth day this week Draco was outside working on his tan. He was even so bored as to go to the lengths of planning his mother's death and funeral with no one finding out it was he. So far he had:

'Push her down the stairs - could survive' and 'Feed her to next door's man-eating spiders'. 

The latter was circled.

Oh the boredom tanning enduced.


	2. socialising

'There is a reason I hate my mother' Draco mused to himself.

'It's not just the burns, it's the whole thing. The sun, the drinks, the _socialising._'

For a child of the aristocracy, 'socialising' is one of the most foul words in your vocabulary. It's above common cuss words. It's a word to be uttered with the deepest disgust and loathing, in a tone that clearly shows the unadulterated hatred you undoubtedly feel for it.

He feels so strongly about it that it surpasses his fear of people, going above and beyond mere emotions. It is not a fear of social situations, no matter how much Pansy laughs when he develops a slight shake at the thought of socialising.

'It was bad enough when I was pale. Way back when I was ghostly white. For I am no longer the vampiric-looking teen I was, oh no. Far from it.

In fact, I'm as far from it as I could get,' he thinks to himself.

Red. Deep red, the colour of strawberries. Oh yes.

And yet he was still forced out into what his parents call the 'great outdoors'. There is nothing, as far as Draco could see, _great_ about this particular brand of outdoors. Draco has always associated 'outdoors' with adventure, and walking or hiking. Rain, too. Rain and stars and camping. Draco doesn't like this particular sub-type of outdoorsyness. Actually, 'doesn't like' is mild. If Draco could find a word he considered worse than 'socialising' he would use it.

And so here he is, Draco Malfoy the _Ice_ Prince, wandering around a garden party, clutching loosely to his champagne glass. At a garden party. A _garden party_ for Christ's sake! It's hardly the epitome of masculinity, is it? 'And' Draco thinks 'I don't even _like_ champagne'. Which is true, he doesn't. But there's nothing else to get drunk on, so he's downed three glasses already.

Life would be better, Draco believes, if everyone was drunk. At least if they were, no one notice his god-awful sunburn.

His mother insists she is not to blame for the sunburn. 'I mean' and this is a direct quote 'we're purebloods Draco. How was _I_ supposed to know about _sun cream?' _ His mother had said 'sun cream' much the same way as Draco says 'garden party'. With utter contempt and loathing.

People keep touching him here, and Draco has to try so hard not to hex them on the spot.

It's blazing sunlight today, and Draco has been forced out of the house once again. The argument had gone much like this:

'Draco dear, it's sunny! How could you possibly want to stay indoors?'

'But mother, it hurts! The sun, it _burns_!'

'Stop being stupid and get outside, Draco. Now!'

And so Draco had come outside. Blaise was here, he noticed.

Blaise slapped him on the shoulder, slurring 'some party' in his general direction.

'Don't touch me. Remove your hand before I scream.'

Blaise removed his hand, only to slap him 'accidentally' on his blistering cheek.

'I hate you God,' Draco thought resignedly. He gave up.

Removing the hip flask from Blaise's possession and finding it empty, Draco slinks away from Blaise, who muttered something like 'you're all red, mate', and up to the tables to steal champagne. 'How low can you get? Stealing champagne from your own garden party' and mutters that he's going to drown his sorrows and then himself in the swimming pool to his mother. He gets an absent (and slightly drunk-sounding) 'you do that, dear' and runs for it.

Draco stopped at the cool, dark, INDOOR swimming pool.

He spends the next hour and a half getting plastered by the pool. His last conscious thoughts before giving himself over to the beautiful darkness of drunken bliss were that he was never going outside again. Ever. And just how appealing he thought his mother would find next doors spiders.


	3. escape

Draco ran. He ran as fast and as far as he could, trying to get anywhere in the manor where he could pretend he hadn't heard his mother.

This close to Christmas (22 days!) you'd have thought he was safe, wouldn't you? Oh no, you'd have been wrong. It may be freezing, it may be the depths of the winter but that sun was shining and his mother insisted that he would be going outside.

And so he ran. Off into the distant towers that hadn't been used in centuries, along secret corridors that hadn't been heard of for a millennia, at least. Trying to escape.

The sunburn had subsided in October, leaving Draco nothing to use as an excuse next time. But, to be fair, no one but his mother would ever suggest going out at temperatures this low.

Draco ran through the library, through the west wing and through assorted underground passages.

And, pulling the Floo Powder out of his pocket, he dove into the fire, narrowly missing two owls and a house elf. Shouting his destination, he was transported out of his home, and he ran out of the fire. Smack bang into the arms of his mother.

Squealing, Draco apparated himself to the only place he could think of. Treading water, he ran up to the island.

Shivering, resigned to spending the night outside, Draco pulled himself up onto the shores of Azkaban.

He was not impressed. Nor, as Pansy would put it, was he a happy bunny.

And then the screaming began. Draco glowered and threw himself down in the sand. He was very far from impressed as he settled himself down for the night.

And when morning came, Draco hauled himself into the water, and apparated into his fireplace.

Which was very hot. Draco was forced by the house elves to leave the burny goodness of the fire, and had a hot shower.

Or at least tried to. As his mother had used all the hot water.

Sulking, Draco went to bed, and developed a decidedly nasty cold.

And this, this here, is what tanning enduces. Damn his crazy mother, and also Bah Humbug.

Draco hated Christmas for s very good reason.


End file.
